


Bravery Will Follow

by ANG_the_nerd



Category: Once Upon A Time - Fandom
Genre: Agoraphobia, F/M, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANG_the_nerd/pseuds/ANG_the_nerd
Summary: "Think of it as a kind of support group." Dr Hopper had advised. "A small online forum could be an ideal way for you to work on your communication skills in a no pressure setting." Adrian Gold couldn't agree less with the good doctor's optimistic estimation. Two people exchanging emails and perhaps instant messages did not a support group make.But maybe with a little bravery they can heal each other nonetheless...





	Bravery Will Follow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evilsnowswan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilsnowswan/gifts).



It was an ill-advised rant against the Twilight saga that finally prompted Adrian Gold to knock on Dr Archibald Hopper's office door. Earning the ire and general dislike of an entire community was one thing, an amusement really. But embarrassing and alienating himself from his son, the only soul in the world that viewed him with a speck of affection, that could not be allowed to stand. Gold knew himself to be a complete bastard and insufferable arsehole-- his interactions with his tenants tended to be caustic at best and downright brutal at worst.

That's not to say that ninety percent or more of the objects of his wrath were undeserving of it or that he minded the effect on his reputation. He was the scourge of Storybrooke and that's how he liked it. He would happily watch every member of the costal town's population risk life and limb to avoid crossing his path. But seeing even the tiniest fraction of that fear and revulsion reflected in Neal's young eyes hurt more than he could begin to admit. It was time to take action.

"Mr Gold," the therapist all but squeaked in surprise. "Is it rent day already?" Dr Hopper managed to finish his sentence without an audible tremor in his voice, but just barely.

"As always, I collect the rent on the first Friday of the month. Today is the third Wednesday. I'm here today because I-" Gold cleared his throat, it was his turn to suppress the urge to stammer.

"Do you think you could use my help, Mr Gold?" Archie asked kindly. 

"Aye," Gold replied quietly. "I really do."

0000

The blame for the reigning silence and utter lack of success in Gold's therapy sessions couldn't entirely be pinned of either man. Gold's monosyllabic (and often hostile) responses to Dr Hopper's inquiries were not completely voluntary on his part. He had made a deal with himself to bring his faulty personality to heel during his son's summer visitations with Milah. He so wanted to put the necessary work into the process, but the oppressing atmosphere of awkwardness dominated Hopper's wood paneled office and stifled Gold quite beyond his power to control. 

For his part, Archie Hopper felt somewhat less discouraged than his newest patient. He would rather be working actively working on a treatment plan, but he felt what he had managed to glean from the things Gold said, as well as some of the things he neglected to say, were beginning to add up to a solid diagnosis. Still, talk therapy could not make a significant change unless it involved some significant talking. There could be no progress until the stilted pattern of the last six weeks of sessions was irrevocably broken. Beyond that Archie knew that his patient needed to allow more people into his life. A plan was beginning to take root in the back of his mind, but he was still reluctant to take the steps to put it in place.

0000

"Mr Gold, we simply cannot go on like this." Dr Hopper began.

"Are you trying to break up with me?" Gold quipped drily.

"For the past eight weeks we've attempted to make progress with talk therapy and while we haven't accomplished all you had hoped I believe I can conclusively give you a diagnosis as well as some suggestions for your continued treatment."

"Go on then, dearie. I am paying by the hour after all."

Archie drew in a long breath. "It's my professional opinion that you suffer from severe social anxiety. You use hostility and sarcasm to deflect from your fears and you work very hard to push others away to insulate yourself from meaningful social interaction. Even in these appointments you are taciturn and mocking- you're using avoidance techniques because you fear scrutiny and judgment even though, I hope, you understand this environment is free of both of those things.

"Well, well. It's so good to see we haven't allowed Neal's summer with his mother to go to waste." Gold sneered. "Thank you for absolutely nothing."

"Mr Gold, your therapy has not been a waste of time. Now that we have a diagnose we can work on strategies for-"

The landlord cut him off. "What bloody strategy could possibly work for this? You yourself just said that I'm too cowardly to deliver on the talk therapy portion of this transaction."

"I said no such thing, Mr Gold. All I told you is that you suffer from social anxiety and that it makes interacting with others, myself included, difficult for you. And I believe I have a plan that might help with your treatment."

0000

Ensconced in his study with a jigger of whiskey Gold stared blankly at the computer screen willing himself to type. He had vague memories of Miss French. Her father owned the florist shop and her mother was the town librarian; he had few dealings with them as they weren't tenants of his. Miss French had been on her winter break from university when the accident happened. The deliver van's brakes and icy roads proved a deadly combination for Moe French and his wife. Gold assumed the daughter had absconded back to her studies immediately following her parents' memorial service, but apparently she never left the house.

"Think of it as a kind of support group." Dr Hopper had advised. "A small online forum could be an ideal way for you to work on your communication skills in a no pressure setting."

Gold couldn't agree less with the good doctor's optimistic estimation. Two people exchanging emails and perhaps instant messages did not a support group make. And the assertion that there would be no pressure was beyond arse backwards. How was he supposed to comfort a woman who's grief pushed her into agoraphobia? If he had a more developed sense of schadenfreude he might have taken some pleasure in knowing that someone in walking distance just might be more frightened of the world than he himself was, but bastard though he was he took no pleasure in Miss French's misfortune. 

Still, he supposed a correspondence wasn't quite so daunting as speaking face to face. There would be no disdainful eyes to stare at him and no need to prolong the association if he found himself feeling uncomfortable. He could end the arrangement whenever he felt like it or if she were the one to stop responding he was unlikely to come across her in town. Maybe the idea wasn't so poor after all.

To Gold's surprise his computer monitor chirped, he had one new message.


End file.
